


Issue Drift

by RKS



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Manipulation, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-12 07:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11732250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RKS/pseuds/RKS
Summary: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR CHAPTERS 1 AND 2Kirumi never forgot who she was supposed to be. She would reach her goal - even if it meant sacrificing every last person around her.





	Issue Drift

**Author's Note:**

> This fic explores the concept of Kirumi not wasting her potential.
> 
> So extreme AU Kirumi where she's (going to) be the unsympathetic killer we all deserve!
> 
> This fic was betad by my good friend _kittyofhope_! Please read her fics, she is amazing at writing and editing.

Kirumi Toujou was born for greatness. She knew it even before the prime minister called her into his office and sat her down. Scratching at his mustache, he passed a paper folder to her with his grubby hands, prompting her to look through it. An hour - and a few disbeliefs - was all that it took for the coward to pass all authority of his position as the Prime Minister of Japan onto her. But that was the moment that _assured_ her she was about to do great things.

And great things she did.

The prime minister - Shinto, if Kirumi bothered to remember - wasn’t a good prime minister by any means. But that didn’t make him a bad man. Most of the times when he barged in on Kirumi’s office, he contented himself by dragging a chair to her side, smashing his beer can on the desk, and drunkenly ranting on about his next public appearance. She’d put the ink pen in the well, give him a quick pat on the back and an even quicker pep talk. He’d blow his nose into Kirumi’s suit ( _icky_ ) and promise to get through it, if only for her sake. She’d be crushed by his hug, a mountain of compliments towards her unbridled wisdom and patience coming out of his flustered but grinning mouth. Kirumi would politely smile, and thank him for it.

Sometimes, during the long hours when her fountain pen became an extension of her arm as it looped meaningless words on each unnecessary bureaucratic complication, Kirumi’s thoughts drifted to her country. It was a miracle, the country cried, with newspapers racing to make the front headlines. The Prime Minister had finally gotten his act together! a clique of housewives would say, chittering to the microphones on the TV. It’s as though he became someone else, the weatherman would wonder before predicting that the Saishuu area was looking to have a downpour.

Even knowing that it wasn’t _really_ her subordinate’s fault that he was getting the credit for her achievements, she couldn’t stop herself when her grip became too much and ink poured down her paled hand.

But she got by. She adapted, like humans do. Eventually, it didn’t bother her when the ambassadors came in for a diplomatic discussion over tea and were seated with a gothic lolita teenager instead of a greasy old coot. It didn’t bother her when the Russian President sent her an email demanding to know why a bodyguard signed his treaty instead of the heralded prime minister. It didn’t bother her when she walked down the streets to her favorite Mexican grill and nobody even turned their eyes in recognition.

She had a good life.

Until she was thrown into the limo.

 

* * *

 

Kirumi quickly realized that she couldn’t use her position as prime minister to her advantage. At least, not at first. She had no concrete proof for any claims, and wringing it out to a slew of mouthy teenagers was a surefire ticket to get her position leaked all across Japan. She’d be foolish to risk her entire standing for a game that could more or less be an elaborate hoax.

So, Kirumi took a different angle.

Everybody she met glowed with admiration when they saw the Ultimate Maid dip into a curtsey, offering her services to them whenever they required them. Most of them declined - not because they didn’t want her services, but more because they didn’t want to come off as rude - but Kirumi wasn’t deterred. She’d planted the seeds, and as this killing game progressed; she’d be able to reap their harvest when the time was right.

The first days trickled by - she occupied herself by cleaning the library, fixing up breakfast, folding some laundry that was somehow already strewn about. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to build… something. Gonta gave her a bone-crushing hug when she offered to clean his bug box, Angie prattled on about her family when Kirumi was organizing her art supplies, and Korekiyo gave a speech on how honorable she was after she finished polishing his necklace.

Every compliment was always followed by a chuckle.

“No need for thanks. This is a maid’s duty, after all.”

Kirumi wasn’t _lying_ , per se. A maid is supposed to do chores and attend to everyone’s needs. Back in the days when she was an actual maid, that’s what Kirumi did on a regular basis. The only difference this time was that her intentions were less skewed towards money, and more towards survival.

After all, she had to kill to get out of the game and back into her position as Japan’s rightful leader.

And every smile, every declaration of friendship - each of them was just another stepping stone leading her closer to her goal.

 

* * *

 “A body has been discovered!”  
  
Kirumi let herself be herded into the library, thoughts drowning under the stress that she refused to (but yet, somehow did) get to her. Even through the mess of the crowd, Kirumi could barely make out the vibrant green of Amami’s hair mixing with the blood trailing down his head. Kirumi winced. Even if it what had happened was obvious to her, it clearly wasn’t for the masses - a discordant melody of denial and disbelief was strewn around the room until it united into a single phrase.

_How could this happen?_

Kirumi, unlike the masses, knew the answer to that question perfectly well.

Her Monopad resting in her back pocket (currently only finding a use as a glorified map) began to ding and shudder. Most people went to check it - but Kirumi never fell into that category, sending it into sleep mode with a soft _click_. She could check Monokuma had to offer later - right now, she had a murder to figure out.

...And yet a twinge of regret that she didn’t kill first still itched the back of her mind. When she completes the finishing touches on her plan, there would be less of a pool to choose from.

Ah, it couldn’t be helped.

Kirumi had difficulties picking up the shotput. It was heavy, to say nothing of the blood now staining her gloves, prompting her to bite her lip in irritation. It took both of her hands to hoist it up, and even then her back was hunched over in-

“Oh, Gonta’ll take it!”  
  
Kirumi felt the shotput unwillingly leave her hands and go into the big oaf’s, who clearly didn’t have any issues with holding it at all. She would wager so even if he wasn’t demonstrating; those muscles were terrifying, and as Korekiyo had oh-so helpfully mentioned earlier, could break a child’s skull clean in half.

“Gonta saw you struggling, and he thought you could need some-”  
  
Kirumi waved him off. “Ah, no, it’s quite all right. You’re a very helpful person, Sir Gokuhara. Thank you.”  
  
An unmistakable blush raced across his face. “Oh… well, Gonta’s dumb, so he can only help with stuff like this… he isn’t going to be good in the Class Trials.”

...No. No he wasn’t.

Kirumi let a smile grace her features, but for a different reason than the one Gonta was currently assuming. “Now, let’s see about that shotput, shall we?”  
  
Kirumi leaned in, face practically kissing the edge of the metal. It was almost certainly the murder weapon - if you were going to kill, wouldn’t you hide the murder weapon? Judging from its prior placement, it would have to hit his head with great impact, so…

She felt someone bump into her - but before Kirumi could even begin to come up with an apology, the poor boy was already fumbling with one of his own. The blond girl next to him looked weary, eyes glued to the corpse.

“... Um…” Shuichi blushed, shadowing his face with his hat. “I’d say that this shotput either fell somewhere or was thrown.”  
  
“...Right,” Kirumi said. “A fair amount of force must have been applied to get Rantarou’s head all… indented. Such brutality is unheard of…”

“Yeah.” Kaede muttered, narrowing her eyes at the shotput. “But couldn’t someone just walk up to Rantarou and bash his head in? The shotput might be pretty heavy, but someone with enough physical strength could…”  
  
Kirumi could physically feel everyone lose their interest in the shotput and turn their full attention to Gonta. He took a second to process the sudden change before he jumped and sheepishly blurted out some polite (but poor) demands for an explanation.

“N-No, Gonta! I didn’t mean you! I just mean that like… someone else…”

Kaede’s long-winded explanation fell onto deaf ears. Kirumi scoffed - someone like her was fit to be a forgotten victim or a poor killer.

Time would tell which.

 

* * *

 

The elevator’s chains rattled as it inched closer and closer to someone’s deathbed. Nobody could stay perfectly unfazed - the seemingly unshakeable Harukawa Maki was biting her lip in anticipation. Even Kirumi’s own hands were twitching, each jerk threatening to slip them out of their neat fold. No one said a word as the elevator descended, because there was no real need to speak - everyone’s thoughts were out in the open, hanging ominously for everyone to see.

With a jolt, the elevator halted. The metallic doors began to creak open, pausing to convulse and screech every few moments. Even though the elevator delivered them so far underground, Kirumi could swear that there was sunlight streaming through the ajar gateway.

Once she entered and stood on the rim of the dias, Kirumi had to grudgingly admit the courtroom was beautiful. The stained glass windows gave the impression that they were far above the earth, not miles below, especially when (likely fluorescent) lights peeked through the thin cracks. Ironclad fences locked everyone in, which only emphasized how high above Monokuma’s throne was compared to the rest of the participants. Some students were already choosing the nearest podium to hop on, all of which were ringing the center sphere of the dias.

“Upupupupu! C’mon, c’mon! We haven’t got all day!”

Kirumi stepped onto the podium, eyes flitting between the stray competition. Well, not necessarily competition, but - tools, in a sense. Some tools were suited to solving this mystery and saving everyone from certain death. Some tools were suited to sit in the background and chime in with a unhelpful-helpful comment every now and then.

As Kirumi’s eyes glossed over the crowd, she mused that some tools were meant to be sacrificed.

The block echoing the gavel’s pound was all it took for discussion to start.

 

* * *

 

Kirumi did her best to ignore the panicked clamor spilling throughout the courtroom, but not completely; every now and then she piped up with a vague theory and went silent again. She left the discussion to people who were, admittedly, more capable than her.

The noticeable leaders of the conversation were Akamatsu Kaede and her pet detective, the one who bumped into her a scarce few hours earlier. They were a complete contrast of the roles they took in the investigation - Kaede was making most of the logical connections and leading the debate in whichever way she saw fit. Shuichi brought forth good points, but seemed fine with the pianist taking the reigns. They were the only reason this Class Trial was progressing at all, in truth.

If Kirumi was to go free, one of them would need to go. That much was certain.

All of the noise blurred into static as Kirumi scrutinized not Kaede’s words, but the girl herself. Kaede was a clear leader, overly trusting, and had a gorgeously pretty neck. It would be so, so easy to find her before she went to bed, waltz into the courtyard, and then silently snap her neck before she could utter a single word.

...But would that be too obvious? Maybe hiding the body hours prior to discovery would more effective. That way, Kirumi could easily just misplace some things that she borrowed from, say, Angie, and fake shock when they were draped across the body the next morning…

A shriek from the circle brought her out of her mindless stupor - Kaede’s finger was jabbing right towards Gonta’s direction, prompting not only him but also a slew of others to jump up in his defense. Most around her were skeptical towards his innocence, likely paralyzed from their first meeting with him - Kirumi knew firsthand how it felt to sweep away a dead ant’s carcass, only to hear a wail of horror from behind her.

Kirumi let her tongue move on her own, lies spilling from it easier than any truth could.

“I’m very sorry, Sir Gokuhara.” Kirumi said. “I have no intention of driving you into a corner, however...”

She stretched out her arm, feeling the pressure of the mood on it. “Once I have stated to give my all to cooperate _(to win)_ , I must fulfill that duty.”

Kaede flinched, beads of sweat trailing down her pale face. “W-What do you mean?! Is… there still a possibility Gonta is the culprit?!”  
  
Not particularly, Kirumi supposed. But she had forged a theory out of the excerpts she processed, and for the sake of her future trial - she needed it to be heard.

“For example,” Kirumi began, retracting her arm a tad. “What if Sir Gokuhara remained in the AV room when he killed Sir Amami in the library?”

With an arched eyebrow of disbelief, Kirumi noted Ryoma saw past her poor theory before anyone else. “He killed Rantarou in the library… while he was in the AV room?”

“I see, I see,” Angie said. “So there’s some method that would work.”

“Yes,” Kirumi said, mentally chuckling at Angie’s naivety - believing a theory before it had been said! Talent did not equal brains in any way, did it? “If he used that method, not only would he be able to kill Sir Amami from the AV room…

“...He wouldn’t have been photographed by the hidden cameras in the library.”

Tenko - ever eager for a suggestion brought forth by a female - whooped and accidentally knocked Kiibo in the shoulder. He barely noticed. “That’s perfect! So, what method was it?!”

“Well… I already know since I’m a beauty and a genius,” Miu lied, twiddling her hair. “But why don’t I leave the explaining to you guys?”

Kirumi sighed out of expastaration. “Before I give my explanation, I’ll have to make clear the relationship between the location of the AV room and the library.”

Kirumi took out her Monopad and opened their homemade floor map of the basement. Her theory was utter bullcrap, there were too many variables, but it should be obvious - even at a glance - what she was getting at.

“The door of the library’s back entrance is just about parallel to the door of the AV room where Sir Gokuhara was, correct?”

Her finger traced the straight line showing where the shotput could _n’t_ have gone.

“With that positioning, Sir Gokuhara could’ve easily killed Sir Amami while still remaining in the library.”  
  
A hum of false-thoughtfulness echoed throughout the room. “But Kirumi, I don’t get it! How could Gonta have done that~?”

Kirumi grit her teeth - of course, ‘God’ couldn’t tell Angie things _now_ , could he? But as quickly as it tightened, her mouth loosened into a familiar purse once more. “First, in preparation, he would have to open the library’s back entrance…”

“Hmm, but this is already looking impossible.” Tsumugi said. “We were saying how he couldn’t get into the hallway, since the sliding room of the AV wasn’t open, was it?”

Kiibo nodded. “If he couldn’t enter the hallway, how could he open the back entrance?”

“It’s not that the sliding door doesn’t open at _all_ ,” Kirumi said. “It should have opened enough for ‘an arm to fit through’, no?”  
  
The lights of recognition suddenly dancing through everyone’s eyes was a welcome change of pace.

“In which case, shouldn’t it be possible? If he used that…” Kirumi could feel the word on her tongue, but bit it back. “...’certain object’ in the AV room.”

With how fast Kaede’s hand shot up, Kirumi wondered why she even made her work for it. “The screen, right?”  
  
“Correct. By rolling up the screen in the AV room, it could be used as a long pole.”

A split second of confusion.

“...You can use that to open the door to the library.”

And as though she had flicked a switch, the courtroom went from silent to bustling; everyone seemed to be simultaneously confused and in agreement that Gonta was the culprit. All (poor) inquires were explained with ease.

...But the sheer amount was enough to fatigue Kirumi for the entire evening.

“Look,” Kaito grumbled. His hand was scratching the nape of his neck. “I still don’t see how Gonta could’ve killed Rantarou from the library.

“As I said,” Kirumi said, voice scarce more than a whisper. “Sir Gokuhara killed Sir Amami while remaining in the AV room.”

Yet again, Kaede went for the bait like a fish who never learned to stop going for the worm. “Wait, Kirumi… you’re saying that Gonta threw the shotput?”

“Wait! Hold on! Throwing something like a shotput is--” Tenko stopped, reconsidering. “...Perfectly normal, actually! Continue!”

“Correct,” Kirumi nodded. “Shotputs are meant to be thrown, so throwing a shotput so it’s a weapon is the most logical route to take.”

“Additionally, even if a person couldn’t fit through the opening provided,” Kiibo said. “A shotput could easily be tossed through.”

“Furthermore…” Kirumi said. “There is a completely straight line between Sir Amami’s corpse and the AV room. As long as the shotput was thrown perfectly straight, Sir Gokuhara could’ve definitely hit Sir Amami.”

Kaede squirmed. “But that shotput was really-”  
  
“Does that truly matter, with someone with strength like Sir Gokuhara?” Kirumi snapped. “He could lift that manhole cover with ease, no? So why can’t he throw a shotput a short distance?”

“Gonta could totally do it!” Ouma cut in. “Unlike that robot exclusively used as a dustpan!”

Kirumi let the rest of the courtroom devolve into chaos once again. She had eyes for one person only - the core of the class, the singular reason the Class Trials moved forward, Kirumi’s beautiful sacrificial lamb.

Yet again, Kirumi’s lips moved on their own.

“And there was _no obstacle_ blocking the way-”

Kaede took her gun, shot Kirumi’s statement to shreds, and her fate was sealed by a thread.

 

* * *

 

 **AKAMATSU KAEDE** : FIFTEEN VOTES

A lever was pulled, a wheel was spun, and confetti rained down upon the fifteen Ultimates who would live to see another day.

...Except one.

Kirumi wasn’t mad. The Prime Minister of Japan _doesn’t_ get mad, period. But was there another word to describe this seething, insatiable feeling swelling inside her chest? If she was alone - and more disconnected from herself - Kirumi might be tempted to vomit her dinner down the toilet.

Everyone around her felt the same, judging from the emotion glistening behind their eyes - but for different reasons than Kirumi. She was positive.

But she couldn't just stand stauch and silent while everyone else was pouring their hearts out onto the ground. How was that kind? How would that make her the figure of authority she was destined to - no, the figure of authority she was and is?

“Your words of hope… I’ll accept them as your request.” Kirumi said, masking her bitterness with a touch of solicitude.

Her words did nothing but emptily mix with the other, identical cries of sympathy. Was that so wrong? She had added the two cents that were expected of her, and would add no more. She spent the next minutes twiddling her hand, stopping it from grabbing Kaede’s neck and snapping it like she should have before this trial even began.

Kaede may be gone, Kirumi thought, and the pool was thinning. The group was idiotic - Kaede wasn’t begging for friendship, she was begging for martyrdom. Who would hear her wish and think it was tailored for _them_?

There was a click.

From the ceiling, a thread of agony descended upon Kaede, snapping around her neck. She stretched out her arm to the one person she had more to say to, but the curtain closed and she fell and-

Monokuma raised the baton just as Kaede gagged around the knot. It took just another swipe for the concert to begin anew, the pianist raising up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down

And with each movement of the noose, a new swan song of screams filled the auditorium.

It felt like centuries before the noise ceased - and the only thing left of the pianist was a corpse that died days too soon.

The piano case closed just as the murder case had.

And all - the auditorium, Monokuma, Kirumi’s not-quite-victim, her thoughts - were silent.

 

* * *

 

When Kirumi slept that night, she dreamed of a throne, a string, and a moon.

She forgot it when she woke.


End file.
